The Shadowy Angel
by LittleFlowerLei
Summary: This is the tale of an ordinary woman who had everything. But after her world was taken from her by a man of power and evil, she vows to slake her need for revenge. Chapter 7 up! OCOC ErikOC
1. Arrival in Paris

**Chapter One**

**_Arrival in Paris_**

**Disclaimer: I don't own phantom, and I'm just saying this now: there WILL be bits of Sweeney Todd, mostly because I lurve that movie so good.**

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"Anthony, son." Anthony Richard Faith looked upwards towards his father, a burly man with thick brown facial hair and the scent of the sea. That would make a lot of since, considering that he and his father were both sailors. "You see Madam Parker down there?" Anthony looked over the railing by the helm and focused his eyes on the black-dressed woman with brownish red tussled hair on her head and a thin black shawl around her shoulders.

"Yes," Anthony replied, watching Olive quietly. She was older than him by at least eighteen years, but she was still younger than his father; whose hair was starting to gray at the roots, and whose face was starting to get that old, withered look.

"When we get to France to drop Madam Parker off, I want you to get off with her." Anthony felt his heart sink and smack against his diaphragm, his face drained of what little color it had, and his blondish brown hair fell limp in his face. His father wanted him to...stay? Before Anthony could question his father's judgment, he began explaining. "This voyage is too dangerous for you Anthony,"

"But--!" He began to protest, but his father wouldn't hear any of it. That was the thing about Anthony's father; he knew what was best for his son, no matter how distasteful it was to Anthony himself.

"You are my only son Anthony, I don't want you to get hurt out at sea, I want you to stay in France." Anthony felt terrible, she wanted to go with his father, he wanted to sail around the world and see it's wonders, but his father would have none of that. Not yet for Anthony anyway, not until he was older, stronger, and wiser. Anthony nodded in defeat.

"Yes sir," he replied sadly. His father smacked his back proudly, accidentally making Anthony lose his balance for a minute or two. After his father left to check on something on the ship, Anthony wandered down to Olive Parker and stood beside her, watching her tussled reddish brownish hair brush to the side due to the soft breeze through the fog. Anthony, if he moved close enough, could see the city coming into view at last. "Madam Parker, isn't the city beautiful?" Olive snarled at the direction of the city, and closed her eyes a moment.

"It was," She replied. "Now it's not so much." Anthony looked between Olive and the city solemnly for a moment, he wanted to stay on the ship and sail around the world; but he supposed it was no choice of his. His father was the one who made the decision to leave him behind, and his father never changed his mind once it was made up.

Quietly, Anthony left the deck to go below to pack his things, leaving Olive standing on deck, starring at the city coming ahead. She closed her eyes a moment, taking in the French scents, and the French sounds. She rubbed her fish netted fingerless gloved palm against her chin, scratching at itch she had on her face. She opened her eyes and immediately got a wicked smell of the wharf of the city, where the ship was to take port. It smelled of gutted fish and unhygienic fishermen. Neither of which pleased her sense of smell, she found fish atrocious and unhygienic men to be just as revolting, if not a trifle more. If those men had wives, she pitied them for having to stand both smells at the same time while trying to live a humble life. If Olive ever found Benjamin, she would tell him never to work at a wharf or be unhygienic.

Then again, if things got bad enough; she wouldn't ask it of him. Benjamin would do anything for Olive and Johanna; even if it meant taking a dead-end job surrounded by nasty, sweaty, fishy men who smelled like the catch of the day all year round. But Olive doubted that would happen; Benjamin was a well-respected lawyer who kept his wife and child in fine clothes and smelling wonderfully. Even though Olive was anything but pretty as a picture.

She pulled her shawl closer to her skin as she gazed upon the misty city as it came closer; and the closer they got, the more nervous she became about finally seeing Benjamin and her beloved Johanna again. Would they still be the same people they were when she left? What had Johanna grown up to be like? Did she have dark hair like her father? She sure hoped so, that was what she had imagined Johanna to be like while she slaved away in the Prison Isles off the coast of Australia. She dreamt of her little Johanna with dark hair and milky skin--like her father.

She shivered quietly as Anthony came up behind her; she gave the boy a tiny corner smile before asking him why he'd gathered his things.

"Father wants me to stay in France," Anthony said to Olive as he held his big gray bag over his shoulder by holding onto the leather strap connected to it. "Says the voyage is too dangerous."

"Your father is right," Olive said to him, "Too dangerous for a young boy." Anthony didn't seem to like her agreeing with his father, but she didn't care. Anthony needed to learn the hardest lesson there was to learn in life. Sometimes bad things happen to good people, and good things happen to bad people. He went on telling her that he didn't think he'd get hurt, but Olive interrupted by saying, "You are a very foolish boy Anthony."

"Madam Parker?"

"You are young and foolish; life has been kind to you. You will learn." And she strolled away from him, and began walking off the ship once it had hit port. Anthony followed her quickly, hearing his father call after him as he followed the haggish 33 year old woman off the ship.

"Be good son!" Called Anthony's father. "Get an education, stay out of trouble, find yourself a girl, and mind Madam Parker!" Anthony nodded in his father's direction before catching up with Olive Parker on the other side of the brick wall at the end of the dock, leading into the misty city.

"Is everything alright Madam Parker?" She gave him a half-smile before turning to face him; she wanted so much to look thankful for what Anthony and his father had done for her, but it was hard to be happy in a place with so many miserable shadows.

"I beg your forgiveness Anthony, in these once familiar streets; there are shadows."

"...Shadows?" Anthony questioned Olive uneasily. He partially thought she as Paranoid, but in a moment he saw her shaking away the gathering misery, like gathering rainc clouds in the sky.

"I'd like to thank you Anthony, if you hadn't spotted me; I might still be lost in the ocean." Anthony smiled at his friend, before softly asking,

"Will I see you again?"

"You can look me up if you like, 'round the opera house, I wouldn't wander." Anthony nodded viciously before extending a hand towards his friend, a hand which was garbed in brown, fingerless gloves.

"Until then, my friend." But Olive didn't shake his hand; she just took off from him muttering some incoherent thoughts to herself until she flagged down a cab and instructed him to head to 1665 Blackwood. He cabby took off, allowing Olive time to glance out of the windows of the coach and watch the people walk by, living their everyday lives in silent agreement.

The cabby dropped her off right where she wanted to be, standing at the base of a great hill; facing a large white house that looked as if it had not had any repairs since she left. Closing her eyes, she plastered a beautiful, happy image of a home and family over the gray, deserted home before her. She pretended it looked the same as it had fifteen years ago, and if she believed hard enough, it almost did.

She stepped on the creaking porch step and winced at the loud, omnipresent _creeeeeeeeek_ noise under her boot. Slowly, she lifted her foot and treaded on the next step; although it was just as loud and ear-splitting as the other one.

As she reached the screen door, she slowly pushed it open; surprised at the cloud of dust that attacked her once she was inside. Coughing a little into her hand, she smacked the dust away and went inside further.

"Benjamin! Johanna!" She called, her heart doing triple summer-salts in her chest as she waited for her husband and daughter to come and greet her at the door. "I'm home! It's me! Olive!" But no answer.

Quickly, she descended the rotting stairs, feeling as though they would fall any moment. Benjamin must be in his office with his gramophone up too loud; that was how he liked to pass misty afternoons.

He wasn't, it looked like no one had been in there in years.

Now her heart was racing, Johanna! Where was Johanna?

She ran into the nursery and saw it too, was covered in a layer of dust. She walked in and found Johanna's little stuffed raccoon doll waiting in dust in her cradle.

The only place she had left to look was her and Benjamin's bedroom. Oh god she hoped they were there. Her heart was being stabbed as she made her way from the nursery, across the cold, dirty hallway and into the room; where she saw no one was.

A lone note sat on the bed, looking as old as everything else in the house did. She sunk onto the mattrice and lifted it up; slowly reading it in her head.

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_I, Benjamin Parker, have decided that without my love and my life, Olive Parker, I can't go through life anymore. Days without her seem to drag on forever; and I can't stand living the rest of my life knowing my wife is slaving away in the Prison Isles, slowly decaying—if she isn't already dead._

_My heart is heavy, but I must leave my Johanna to the one true friend I have. Priest Allan Banks; a good and honorable man who has done nothing for my family but give his utmost support. I trust he will raise my Johanna to be a fine young woman._

_I say goodbye to this life, to my incarcerated Olive, and to Johanna. Goodbye to whom it may concern. I hope that—if my Olive is still alive—she gets this note, So that if she ever does make it out and comes home, she wouldn't have gotten her hopes up for nothing._

_Goodbye,_

_Benjamin Parker_

Her hands shook as tears slid down her face, dripping on the paper. Benjamin was dead, and Johanna was in the hands of Banks. Her hopes died, she no longer had a family; and what little family she did have, was in the hands of the worst possible person.

She eventually left the house, her steps slow and sloshing. From her home and old life, she'd taken Johanna's raccoon doll, and a tri-fold picture frame with photos of her family inside. She had to have something to hold onto from her life, even if they were the most painful memorabilia that she could have possibly gotten.

Once again she flagged down a coach, and it came. She sat for a moment before asking the cabby to take her to the opera house—the best place for a woman with no money or anywhere to go. All the while she was formulating a plan for revenge, she would not let that despicable Priest Banks get away with taking her life from her.

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Woo! the re-write!! Tell me, is it better than the original? I think it is. But I don't know for positive. **


	2. First Sight

**Chapter Two**

**_First Sight_**

**Disclaimer: I don't own phantom, and I'm just saying this now: there WILL be bits of Sweeney Todd, mostly because I lurve that movie so good.**

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Scratching the side of his head, Anthony glanced around at his surroundings. Someway or another he'd wound up in the upper district while looking for the opera house. He wanted to make sure Madam Olive was alright; his father had taught him to never leave a distraught woman alone.

It was kind of embarrassing that he'd gotten lost. But at the same time it was understandable because he'd never been in the city before. The opera house seemed like the kind of place that would be in the upper district, but it obviously enough was not.

He walked past a large, black, white, and gray house that matched the rest of the street; but it wasn't until he glanced upwards at the balcony that he realized why that house stood out more than the others. Sitting on the balcony was a beautiful, milky-skinned, black haired girl in a blue dress.

She was doing embroidery, and had noticed Anthony too. She gazed at him subtly, trying to look unfazed by the attention he was giving her. She thought he was rather adorable looking but she had no reason to think that way about him, she didn't know him.

He walked on, keeping his eye on her until he almost ran into a street lamp. She brought the tips of her fingers to her lips, stifling an amused giggle. Anthony smiled at the sight that his inelegance had given her a smile, she looked so somber before.

Looking down at her embroidery, she admired the flower pattern she'd made with the needle and pink thread. Embroidery helped her think, because that was all she could do. Her guardian kept her locked away in the mansion her entire life, what was there to do besides think?

During her life locked away, she'd cultivated a great deal of knowledge thanks to the numerous books her keeper had gotten her. Romance novels, mysteries, poetry, arts and crafts, cook books—but never books about traveling and the world. It was probably because he was afraid that if she knew about the outside world, she would try to leave.

Even if she _could_ leave, she would have no idea where to go or how to take care of herself on the outside. That fact kept her from fighting to get away, although it was also the fact that made her fragile and innocent. She was her guardian's little porcelain doll; feminine, knowledgeable, and elegant.

Anthony couldn't get the girl's face out of his mind. She was so beautiful, so elegant. His mind swirled around her; he had to know more about her. He had to learn her name, her likes, dislikes, her wants, her dreams, her fears. He had to learn everything about her, he wanted to.

"Francs! Francs! For a hopeless lady!" Howled a beggar woman as she walked through streets, standing out among the rich and the beautiful. Anthony reached into his pocket and dropped some money into her hand, her eyes became wide as she furiously thanked him. "Thank you Monsieur! Thank you!"

"Tell me Madam, whose house this is?" She, at that point, was searching him for more money. Hoarsely, she replied,

"Oh, that's the Priest Banks' house. He lives there with his attractive little ward, Johanna, and his friend the Roach. They keep his ward snug, never let her out. You shouldn't intrude there, or they'll be a good thrashing for you. Or any other young man with…"naughtiness" on his mind."

"Thank you—"

"Wait! How would you like my service? Looks to me dear like you've got plenty business to do!" he shook his head and paid her a little more just leave him be. She took his money and left him, wailing "Francs! Francs!"

Johanna winced at the beggar woman's loud, cat-like wails before looking to the side at the bird cage she had in her room. A little yellow breasted Lark sat inside. It was not singing, although that was not surprising to Johanna. She knew that Larks never sang when they were in cages. They merely just sat on their perch, looking at their surrounding, Waiting to be freed from their prison.

All she allowed herself to think about while she was doing her embroidery was the boy on the street, the one that had caused her to smile when she hadn't smiled in forever.

Anthony felt good knowing her name and that he was able to make her smile. He would definitely come back to see her again, try and strike up a conversation with her; get to know her. Even though he knew that "Priest Banks" would not allow him, or any other young man, near Johanna; he would try.

But as he walked down the street, in search of the opera house, he realized he fell in love with Johanna at first sight. But by the time the thought had registered in his head, he'd wandered his way to the opera house somehow, and found Olive standing in front of it, her arms clasped tightly around a stuffed raccoon and a picture frame.

"Madam Olive!" Anthony called; Olive turned her head to his voice and greeted him with a somber nod. "What's the matter Madam? Didn't you find your husband?" Her heart sank, but as he got closer; he saw her eyes were redder than they normally were. He realized momentarily that her husband was gone. "Oh…Madam…"

"Why did you come seek me out so early Anthony?" Olive questioned quickly, her voice quivery and sad.

"I wanted to be sure you were alright, that you don't do anything irrational." She shook her head.

"Me? Irrational?" She tried to sound happy, but it was hard. "Don't worry yourself Anthony, I'm fine. Heartache and I are no strangers, Go, and enjoy the city. I'm fine Anthony, I promise." He believed her, but promised that he would come and check on her every now and then to be sure she really was OK. She thanked him for his concern and went to her own business, watching him for a moment as he turned his heels to her and left.

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:3 I hope you guys liked this! This one was a little hard to do, but I did it :D **


	3. OG

**Chapter Three**

_**.O.G.**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own phantom, and I'm just saying this now: there WILL be bits of Sweeney Todd, mostly because I lurve that movie so good.**

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Olive was given a job as cook in the opera house, and was also given a room in the new apartment wing. It had one room more than she needed, but she ignored that fact. She'd placed the picture frame beside her bed and found herself looking at it morbidly.

She missed her Johanna and her Benjamin, they were her life and they were gone. It was like someone tore away both halves of her heart. What little bit of heart that was left missed them terribly, and even though she knew Johanna was still alive; she had no idea where she was other than with Priest Banks.

If she had any luggage she'd have unpacked it, but she didn't have any. All she had to her name was some francs Anthony's father gave her to get started with, and what she'd found in her old house.

Looking down at Johanna's stuffed raccoon, she remembered holding her baby in her arms while she hugged into the toy. For comfort, Olive picked it up off the bed and hugged it close. It made her feel secure, warm, and loved. She felt a little less alone in the world, even though she knew that she was.

She closed her eyes for a minute, putting the picture of her late family in her head. Back when days were short and Olive was pretty. Back when she could never swear, when her grammar wasn't atrocious, and when she wasn't so cold.

Benjamin was so handsome as he smiled at her, as he held their newborn daughter in his arms and brushed a little bit of baby dribble off her chin with the back of his index finger. Johanna was bald back then, her head under a white bonnet, and her teeny little baby toes were kept under a pair of white baby booties. Her little hand tugged at her little white dress, and her brown eyes had light in them that danced like fireflies.

She missed Benjamin and Johanna so much. But if she pretended hard enough, she could almost feel Benjamin's sweet breath on her cheek, she could hear little Johanna's baby jargon as she surveyed her surroundings, learning by seeing.

Johanna looked so happy, but the one thing Olive couldn't figure out was why Benjamin thought of Priest Banks as a friend, he was no friend. He was barely a good acquaintance, terrible man with terrible thoughts in his head; If Banks was a friend, who needed enemies?

Olive felt herself slipping away into sleep. It was what she needed. She had to lie on the bed, curled up to the stuffed Raccoon, and dreaming of days gone by. Faintly from her room she could hear Carlotta's loud wailing.

From what she'd heard, they talked Carlotta into coming back into the opera house to sing soprano again. Olive hadn't had the time to make conversations with Carlotta yet, but by the way she treated the managers, and the way the managers just took it, she realized that the two were going to clash if they ever attempted at a dialogue.

She slept until early that next morning. It was so odd to sleep on a bed that didn't smell of someone else's dried piss and wasn't a hammock. The cot wasn't as comfortable as her and Benjamin's bed used to be, but the feeling of her marriage bed had long been forgotten, and replaced with thankfulness for the smallest, clean cot.

For a few short minutes, she laid on her back starring up at the celine. Partly she was thinking about how she was going to get through her first day knowing she was a widow.

It was hard to give up the dream she'd been having for fifteen years about coming home to a husband and baby. She knew it wasn't happening; she knew that Benjamin was dead and Johanna was with Priest Banks. That despicable excuse for a human being.

Turning her head to the side, she starred at the tri-fold picture frame with pictures of her family in it. In the one on the right Benjamin was holding Johanna and smiling, in the middle all three of them were in the picture, and on the left was Olive herself holding her baby.

Back then she looked so different. Her hair didn't have the unhinged look, her eyes were brighter and weren't sunken. She wasn't so pale, and she actually had meat on her bones. Olive missed looking so pretty, she knew she wasn't; but the world needn't rub it in. One cannot expect to keep their appearance up while in prison for fifteen years on a false charge.

It took a few minutes for her to realize that the raccoon had fallen off the bed in her sleep. She turned over to reach it, but it sat neatly in front of her end table with a note on its leg. Someone had broken in and arranged it so it was like that; and that was unnerving.

She lifted the raccoon and the note up off the floor and opened up the envelope, breaking the red wax skull-shaped seal.

_Madam Parker,_

It began.

_I welcome you to my opera house, and hope that you find your stay here to be culturally didactic. I write this as both a welcome and an introduction to the opera house._

_I am the Opera Ghost; I run the opera house through the managers. My word is law, and I only have one request of you: Don't go into Box 5, that's my private box, and if you go in there without being previously invited by me, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. _

_.O.G._

Olive raised her eyebrow as she re-read the note. It was short, but the elegance in his handwriting put her chicken scratches to shame. O.G.? Opera Ghost? What kind of narcissistic person would write something so unbelievably egotistical? There were no such things as ghosts, and there especially were no things as Ghosts that could send notes to people warning them of their foolish actions.

She didn't believe, but she wanted to know who snuck into her room and left it. Quickly getting up off her bed, she stomped to the manager's office, still in the one dress she owned. That would be a major thing she'd need to get, new dresses.

The manager welcomed her in with a happy look on his face, but that quickly dissipated when she slapped the note on his desk, demanding to know who the egotistical prankster who broke into her room was. The manager lifted the note and scanned it over, his face losing all color when he read who it was from. O.G.

"Has no one told you yet Madam Olive?" Olive shook her head and sat in front of the manager's desk. Heaving a sigh, he looked around. "I think he'd want me to tell you, so you know why he says what he says."

"He?" Olive questioned. "_He_ Who?"

"The Phantom of the Opera," He said shakily. "You see, Two years ago; there was a young soprano named Christine Daae who lived and trained in the ballet dormitories. The phantom was in love with her, and at first things went great for him, until her childhood sweetheart Raoul De Changy came and won her over.

"The phantom wasn't going to lose someone he loved so dearly, so he fought to keep her. When Carlotta was given the role of the countess in _Ill Muto_ and Christine was the Page Boy, the phantom punjabbed Joseph Bouquet and hung him on stage.

"That night Christine and Raoul became engaged, and the phantom decided enough was enough. On the night of the Masquerade he unveiled his opera _Don Juan Triumphant_, and it was to be performed with Christine as the lead.

"On the night it was performed, he killed Piangi, the one who was playing Don Juan at the first, and tried to seduce Christine on stage. It worked to an extent. After the phantom professed his love for her on stage, she unmasked him and he cut a rope holding the chandelier in place.

"The opera house went up in flames, but what happened to the Phantom after that was a mystery never fully explained. Everyone thinks he died and is now a real ghost haunting the opera house. The only person who would know for sure was Christine Daae, and she lives in the upper district with Raoul." Olive found herself captivated by the dark romantic story that happened to years before. She wanted to know more about the phantom, mostly because she didn't believe that he was really a phantom at all. He was not an apparition haunting an opera house.

She wanted to prove it to them that there was no such thing as a Phantom, there were no ghouls or hobgoblins hiding in the dark, or evil leprechauns coming to steal bad children away in their slumber. There weren't, and she was going to prove it.

"Well do something about him," She snapped. "I don't want that weirdo sneaking into my apartment! I don't pay you rent money to let freaky strangers walk into my room and leave notes."

"You shouldn't be calling him those names," warned the manager, "You have no idea what he's capable of doing."

"You, a man who runs the whole opera house, is afraid of a myth? An urban legend? An old wives tale? Come now sir, surely you're joking when you tell me you believe in the Phantom of the Opera."

"It's no joke Madam Parker," Said the manager, "And that's a lesson you best learn. He doesn't like to be challenged."

"Let him come," She said strongly, slamming her hands down on his redwood desk "Let him do what he will to me. There isn't anything he could do to me that hasn't already been done." She turned her heel to him and marched out of the room, storming her way back to her apartment to lie down on her bed and wait for the anger and somewhat sadness to subside.

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:O there we go!! Chapter Three. I'm actually having more fun redoing this because now I have a way better idea of the characters ( I wrote down everything about the main OCs that would make them believable in a way.) and it's fun :DD**


	4. Pranks!

**Chapter Four**

_**Pranks!**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own phantom, and I'm just saying this now: there WILL be bits of Sweeney Todd, mostly because I lurve that movie so good.**

The fact that Olive didn't believe in him was what really pissed Erik off. Who was this woman to challenge his existence? She was nothing special, no beauty; no grace, and no beliefs. How could she call herself a woman if she professed her disbelief in something that could easily kill her? Women were weak, why was this one so different?

In her arms she held a stuffed Raccoon. That was something else, he had enough courtesy the last time he broke into her room to put her doll in an upright position with his note. He could have left it stuck in the crevice between the bed and end table. Why it was a grown woman held a child's toy so near he'd never know.

Snarling his nose at her sleeping form, Erik vowed to make her believe. He would not have someone working and living in _his_ opera house and not believe in him. That was unheard of and her disbelief would not be tolerated. He would do what he had to and make her believe.

He turned his heel to her and left, there was no use in trying to get her to believe while she slept like the dead. That next day he would strike fear into her heart, he would make her quiver at the knees and know that he, the Phantom, existed.

But of course, Olive wasn't totally wrong. He wasn't a ghost; he was a man of flesh and blood. He wasn't dead like the whole world had thought him to be, his body survived the faithful night Christine left with Raoul, but his soul died.

To give himself something to do other than contemplating his own suicide, he began haunting the opera house again. At first, the managers sent police down to his lair to search for the man, but found nothing. It looked as if no one had been in it, but in truth; he had. To them he was a real ghost, and they were terrified to the core of him.

Their fear gave him a momentary feeling of pride, but it dissipated when he remembered he didn't have Christine to look after anymore. His pretty little chocolate haired brunette left with De Changy, and left Erik by himself to rot in the catacombs.

Haunting Olive would give him something to do, considering he needn't threaten people as much as he once had to. They all believed in him to death, but Olive was new and didn't believe. Somehow she'd escaped the news that the opera house was burned down by a masked pyromaniac.

He returned to his underground lair, it seemed so empty. The pictures and figurines of Christine still lay about, reminding him of the love he'd lost. She was always in his head, always on his mind. He loved Christine so desperately that he'd have done anything to hold onto her, to hold her small, fragile body next to him and tell her that he would always love her. But she was gone; he had to get past it.

It was easier said than done to get over Christine, his love and his life. She was what kept him out of suicide's hands, what kept his stability tethered to reality. Losing her caused him to break the thread that held him together, it was a miracle that he hadn't gone over the edge and disposed of everyone's problem. Himself.

But for some reason he stayed alive, although the term "Alive" was used _very_ loosely, and haunted the opera house. He was actually only live in the sense of the word meaning that he was breathing. He rarely ate unless it was of the utmost importance, and he spent most of his time either haunting the opera house or sleeping.

Erik brushed his fingers over the ivory keys on his organ. It was his only friend, the only thing that knew how to comfort him. But alas, with Christine's departure went his muse, he no longer had the ability to write a decent opera. Every time he would try, there wouldn't be any heart behind it. He didn't believe in the story in it, so it wasn't believable at all.

---

Olive dreamt there was a man in a mask standing over her bed. But when she woke she was alone in the darkness. Johanna's raccoon sat neatly on the bed, having been in her arms the entire night.

She still felt as if there had been someone in her room, but obviously enough there wasn't. She yawned softly, stretching her arms in the air and breathing in the new day. But that was all before she remembered that Benjamin and Johanna were gone.

Suddenly, the weight of the world smashed down on her shoulders, causing her to feel forlorn and morose. Sighing sadly, she pushed herself up off the bed and walked to her closet to pick out a dress for the day.

It took her a while of looking through her closet before she could pick out a dress. She didn't want to base her choice off her sudden mood decay, but instead of how she would feel later. She didn't know though, and right then her black gown with the white little ribbon around the cleavage looked to be appropriate.

The black sleeves on the dress were puffed out and went to her elbows; the skirt was long enough to hide her legs but short enough to show her pretty black boots. The skirt was also a dark shade of brown with black floral lace over it, giving it a faux elegance.

After a short while of smoothing out her skirt with her fishnet gloved hands, she starred at herself in the mirror. She tried on a few smiles to try and find one that looked natural. That hid her sadness behind it and made people think she was a happy-go-lucky woman. She found one, a neat corner smile that peaked at both corners. It was good enough for that day anyway. She put her long, curly, deranged hair in two pigtails before lightly brushing on some dark eye shadow.

Olive knew she was no sleeping beauty. She was no Cinderella or a Christine Daae. She was the ugly duckling, except this duckling had been demoted _from_ a swan. She wouldn't be able to recapture her youthful elegance and beauty; it was lost in the fifteen year old photograph.

Taking one, last, preparation breath, she strode out of the apartment wing and to the kitchen where she worked. On her way though, a bucket fell from above, making her jump back just in time. Whipping around, she tried to find the culprit, but alas—all the stage hands were on stage getting ready for the blocking rehearsal that was to be held that morning through the afternoon.

Swearing to herself, she moved around the bucket and went into the kitchen to start working. Little did she know that above her Erik stood in the shadows, angry that she didn't take the bucket seriously. Although he would admit to himself that it was a lame prank, he could do better than that. He hadn't needed to prank anyone in so long that it was difficult to remember a good prank. Something to spook her.

Olive had to deliver some food to the cast later that afternoon, and right as she began to speak, the in-production set design fell on top of the stage hand painting it, causing the red paint to smear all over the nearly finished backdrop. Everyone gave Olive a nasty look.

"What?" She asked agitatedly. "Not my fault." And after putting the food down she went to the kitchen again.

It took Erik three days to get a reaction out of Olive. When he did, she was angry as hell. What he'd done was, after she made some apple pie for the hungry ballerinas, he snuck some red food dye into it and when she tried it to see if it was good, it made her mouth look bloody. It frightened her when Meg pointed it out, but angered her when Erik gave her a note when she got back to her apartment that said,

_Got you!_

_.O.G._

"You...are...so…JUVENILE!" She screeched into the air. Erik, in the shadows, was swallowing all the laughs he had building up in his throat. It was then that Olive declared war on ".O.G."; she would _not_ be made an ass of by a ghost that _didn't_ exist. This was the work of some addle minded ballerina, and she would prove it.

**My god, I'm SO sorry this took me SO long. I got REALLY bad writer's block, really suckish writer's block. But I'll try to get this story back up regularly.**

**Tell your friends!**

**:D**


	5. Christine Daae

**Chapter Five**

_**C-h-r-i-s-t-i-n-e D-a-a-e**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own phantom, and I'm just saying this now: there WILL be bits of Sweeney Todd, mostly because I lurve that movie so good.**

The prank war went on for a whole month. Erik dropped backdrops on Olive, put rats in her shoes, poured water in her bed while she slept to make her think she…well…you know. But she wouldn't cave in and believe he was a phantom.

None of his pranks really hurt Olive enough to make her believe in him. It seemed she was stronger willed than most women, and that Erik found entertainingly striking while at the same time annoying and unpleasant.

He put buckets of water on top of her door and left it slightly open so that when she opened it, looking for the intruder, it would fall and drench her. The bucket actually knocked her out once, but Erik didn't feel bad about it at all.

As for Olive's side of the prank war…well…there wasn't much of one because it seemed like "OG" was everywhere she was and knew her pranks before she did. It was hard, but she still tried. She put vegetable oil on the floor in front of her door so when "OG" snuck in he'd slip (and it actually worked once, oddly enough.) but she ended up sliding on it a few times.

Of all Erik's pranks, none was as cruel as when he stole Olive's stuffed Raccoon right out of her room while she was sleeping. Had he known that it belonged to Olive's long lost daughter from back when she was a pretty, happy young lady, he probably wouldn't have sunk that low.

That morning when Olive woke, she treated it like any other morning. She rose and stretched, went to her closet, picked out a dress with a dark red corset bodice, and black sleeves and skirt. She put her gloves on, fluffed up her hair and put it in two pigtails. Brushes her eyelids with dark eye shadow, and slid her boots on over her black-and-white striped socks.

It wasn't until she started to leave that she realized that something wasn't where it was supposed to be. She turned and saw that there was no stuffed Raccoon on her bed, causing her to explode in a frantic search through her room.

Everything was overturned; the room was a complete mess. Her dresses and the contents of her dresser were thrown over the room in her frantic search for her stuffed raccoon, but it wasn't there. She fell to the floor and crumbled over, sobbing hard. She couldn't have lost it, not the last tie to her daughter that she had. This time, O.G. went too far.

In a fit of rage, she jumped up and stormed to the managers office, slamming her fists down on his door screaming,

"Open up! Open up!'

"He's not in," Madam Giry said as she strolled by with her head up and her eyes foreword. "Try the stage.

"Can you help me?" Madam Giry stopped and looked at Olive. "O.G, you know who that is?" Her face drained of what little color it had; all that was left was the blush on her cheeks. "So you do?"

"Stay away from him." She spat at Olive before hurrying ahead of her. Olive followed Madam Giry calling,

"He _took_ something from me, I need it back. Where is he?" but Madam Giry would have none of it. She hurried on ahead; knowing that no one else knew where the Phantom was. Olive stopped in her tracks and watched dejectedly as Madam Giry refused to answer her question or help her retrieve the stuffed Raccoon.

"You want to find O.G.?" She whipped around and saw the smaller Giry standing behind her, standing in her innocent little ballerina dress. "I know where he is. But you'd do well to listen to my mother's warnings; he isn't an understanding man at all."

"I don't care; he took something near and dear to me. I _must_ have it back." Meg looked down at her slippers before looking back up at Olive and nodding slowly.

"Before you do…Talk to Christine, She knows him better than all of us. I'll give you her new address, but promise me you'll take serious consideration to what she says. She might even give you money to replace whatever the Phantom took." Olive shook her head.

"No amount of money could replace it."

* * *

Olive learned that the Countess De Changy, A.K.A. Christine Daae lived in the upper district. The upper district was full of aristocrats and socialites without a care in the world outside who was sleeping with whom while they were married to whom 2.

No problems like having a late husband who committed suicide while they were unjustly imprisoned in Australia for a crime they didn't commit. No ghost stealing their only ties to their daughter who was stolen from a happy home and taken somewhere where she wouldn't grow up well. No, they had no real problems.

Olive noticed the way they were looking at her. They all had a sour eye on her, looking down on her like she was not fit for of being among them, unworthy and unwelcome. She inwardly snarled at them, she wasn't looking for approval. From them or from anyone else.

All around her people were living their lives separately and quietly. Yet, Olive could see through them all. There was a woman with a black eye who had just gotten out of a thrashing with her abusive husband over spending too much on that gauche hat that she wore. She tried to hide the shiner under its brim, but it proved to be a failure. Two men laughing about sex and stock sauntered by, but right when they passed olive, they stopped her.

"Here you go," One of them said, handing her a wad of francs. "I have need for your services." Olive, appalled, looked between the men and the money angrily. She threw the money down and gave the man a good kick in the shin.

"I'm _not_ a beggar woman you wanker!" and gave him the appropriate hand gesture before storming away. She could have just taken the money from the man and deposited it in the 'save Johanna' fund. But she wouldn't take dirty money, no matter how poor she was. Especially from a man who assumed she was a beggar woman by her appearance alone.

She hated people who judged other people by their appearance. Appearance doesn't say all there is to be said about a person. Character does actions and reactions. No one would even know Olive was once a beautiful mother and wife to a prestigious lawyer by her appearance. They wouldn't know that she was once one of them, without a care in the world.

From the corner of her eye she could see a young, black-haired, pale teenage girl with a beautiful round face sitting on her windowsill, working on embroidering a blanket or something. Olive liked embroidery too, she had almost forgotten how relaxing it was, having not done it in fifteen years. They usually don't let you do embroidery in prison.

The De Changy house was a wealthy shade of gray, white, and black. There was a tree, but it had no leaves, the grass even looked gray for some odd reason. Shrugging to herself, Olive preceded foreword, hesitantly knocking on the big, black door on the wide white walls.

A plump, round woman with no neck and a mole on her left check answered the door. Her hair was pinned up into a messy bun, and her nose was so pointed that it could pierce an apple.

"What?" barked the woman meanly.

"I-I n-need to speak to Christine Daae." She stumbled fearfully over her words. The woman was mean to Olive, and intimidating too. "I mean, De Changy."

"MISS CHRISTINE!" Howled the woman from the door, keeping Olive at the stoop. She wasn't about to let someone who looked like Olive come into the house unless she was permitted.

"What is it Mildred?" A curly brunette woman asked as she came down the stairs in a long white gown with her hand on her bulging abdomen. Looking at her, Olive immediately began to wonder if her belly could balance a glass of water. Useful it would be. "You know I can't keep coming down the stairs every single time a beggar woman comes to the door looking for a charity." Olive fumed, why was it that everyone in the upper district assumed she was a beggar woman, just because she had wild hair that _looked _crazy, dark eye shadow, and sunken eyes?

"You listen here little miss: I'm not a beggar woman. I work at the opera house as a cook." Olive argued agitatedly. She didn't raise her voice; however, she kept a cool, uptight pitch.

"I'm sorry," Christine apologized nicely, getting back on Olive's good-side.

"I'm here to discuss…The Phantom" and what little color was in Christine's face drained, as if she were a balloon with water inside that had just been poked with a needle. Olive knew Christine knew what she wanted to know.

"Mildred—please let her in." Mildred nodded and let Olive walk into the mansion. Christine walked her into the parlor while calling back to Mildred to get them some tea and cupcakes. Mildred bowed to Christine and shuffled off to the kitchen where she was to prepare the countess's desire. Olive and Christine sat on a pink, leather sofa with a copper frame before beginning their discussion. "So, the phantom is still alive?"

"Yes, He sends me notes and signs them O.G." Sighing sadly, Christine nodded.

"That's the phantom all right. What do you want to know about him?"

"Is he a ghost or a man?"

"Man."

"Where does he live?" They paused as Mildred brought in an elegant tea pot and a plate of cupcakes stacked in a pyramid style. She put them on the coffee table and scuffled off as Christine lifted the tea pot and poured herself and Olive a cup of tea.

"I don't want to answer that, Mademoiselle…"

"Olive."

"Mademoiselle Olive," But after Christine gave Olive her tea cup, Olive stopped her again.

"No, just Olive." She corrected kindly. "And I need it answered. He took something from me I desperately need back. Something very dear to me." But still, Christine wouldn't answer her.

"Olive, I'm not just telling you this as a friend, but as someone who knows more about the Phantom than you do. Don't do this, I'll give you money to replace whatever he took, just _please_ don't look for him. You'll regret it if you do."

"You know, Meg said you would offer me money. But money can't replace what he took from me." Olive said sadly, but shaking the miserable thought clouds away. "Please Christine; all I need to do is take back what is mine. I won't talk to him unless I need it, and I won't go back down. I just need to take back what rightfully belongs to me. I'm pleading with you, Christine, as a friend." Christine shook her head miserably. She didn't want Olive going back down there, especially after they had just decided that they would call the other one a comrade. Probably not a close comrade, but a comrade none the less. Letting friends go down there with that…that…_monster_ just wasn't something Christine could bring herself to do. Olive never did anything bad to her other than making her remember such a sick, twisted man. "Please Christine…" Heaving a sigh, Christine nodded.

"Fine, he lives below the opera house. There is a passage behind a mirror in dressing room six. I'm assuming it's still there anyway. But you must promise me to just go in, get it, and get out. No trying to make friends or anything else. Do you understand?"

"Completely," Olive said smiling. Taking the last bite of her cupcake and downing the last of her tea, she thanked Christine whole heartedly and promised to come back and confirm that all went well. But as Olive left down the street, Christine sadly watched. She knew Olive would probably die below the opera house, Erik didn't love her, so he would kill her without delay.

**

* * *

Woohoo! Sweeney Todd comes out on DVD April 1****st**** in North America. WOO! Can't wait. Anyway, Yep here is the rewrite of chapter five, I hope you all enjoyed it.**


	6. Threshold of the Dead

**Chapter Six**

_**Threshold of the Dead**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own phantom, and I'm just saying this now: there WILL be bits of Sweeney Todd, mostly because I lurve that movie so good.**

* * *

Thinking about going in to find her stuffed Raccoon seemed like it was easier said than done really. The idea that one is brave enough to go through a mirror into a thick labyrinth and seek out a phantom who stole their grown-up and taken child's raccoon toy was simply that. An Idea.

Olive stood before the mirror. Her mind told her to go on ahead and get it over with, while her body was resistant, saying it was the worst thing she could do. What if Christine was right and it was deadly? Oh well, the only thing she had to live for was finding Johanna and avenging Benjamin's death. Her own death would solve half her problems.

Biting her lip and swallowing her fear, she pulled the mirror aside, and saw a doorway leading into a dripping, wet, dark void. It wasn't the dark, the rats, or the idea that she could get lost and never find her way out that frightened her, it was what the man below could do. She was more afraid of being raped and tortured by him rather than being killed. She wasn't afraid of death.

It was terribly depressing to be thinking about death as she was inching her way along in the cold, stony, dark maze. But it was all she could do. All she could think of was the way death didn't care if you were a mother, a father, a baby, or an old woman. He didn't care if you were the wealthiest man alive or a homeless beggar woman. It was all the same to death, he didn't discriminate great or tiny. He took everyone and anyone at all.

Swallowing the need to turn around, she preceded foreword. There was only one thing more frightening than both dead and the Phantom's Labyrinth, and that was the Prison Isles. They mixed the male prisoners with the female ones, and most got raped. Olive was one of the many who had, but she'd lived through it. She lived through that, so she could live through most anything.

Ahead was nothing but blackness, and it seemed that the deeper she got, the colder she became. She didn't know her way around, so it would be a lucky fluke if she found her way there without getting lost. She'd never be able to do it again, but she really doubted she would be able to do it in the first place. It was a long shot, a _very_ long shot considering how deep down she was going.

She stepped off the stone walkway and landed in a pool of water. Coughing and then getting up and continuing on. Shivering hard, and chattering her teeth. How could someone live this far below and not be frozen to death? Part of her wanted to say _Phantom, Ghost, O.G., Take your pick sweetie._ But she refused to believe he was a ghost. Christine had confirmed he wasn't. Or at least…he wasn't when she was with him…

It wasn't too long before Olive came to a gate standing angrily in front of her. It seemed to say "Thou shalt not enter! You are not welcome here, stranger." And it couldn't be farther from the truth. She was _not _welcome. Not at the very least.

But it didn't matter, she had to get Johanna's raccoon back, it belonged to her and should have been left out of the prank war all together. The raccoon was a .P.O.W. you could say.

The bars were thick, and grid like so sliding through would probably not be an option. Scratch that, sliding through them was not an option _at all._

She hated being out of ideas. It was like being left completely helpless by your once close companion—your mind. Olive always had an idea for how to get out of a situation, even if it wasn't exactly a _good_ one. She could think her way out of almost any problem. The almost came with the iron grid bars in front of her.

If she squinted her eyes she could see the Raccoon sitting peacefully on a table in the main room of that beautifully decorated island. After starring at it in awe, her mind went back to trying to figure out a way around her problem.

As she ran through impossible plans in her mind, she began to feel like a lab rat trapped in the maze. She could see "the cheese" in the scenario, but a wall prevented her from reaching it. She slammed her fist on the grid bars and swore very loudly.

"Who dares enter my domain?" Shouted a voice behind her, jumping nearly out of her skin; Olive whipped around quickly and saw a man in a fluffy white shirt and a half porcelain mask standing in front of her, his blue eyes dancing with the flames of hell.

"You gave me a fright!" She gasped, placing her palm over the upper part of her breast, signifying her heart. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind that the man standing before her could be the phantom—not right away anyway.

"Get out," He barked loudly but not loud enough to frighten Olive away. As The man before her shouted and swore at her lack of fear, she realized quickly who the man was. She remembered the mask all-of-a-sudden from the stories.

"The Phantom..." She breathed and saw that the phantom looked surprised that she figured it out. Why was that? Did he think her stupid? Possibly. Who was to say she wasn't? It was stupid to go down to the phantom's lair, unarmed, to search for a stuffed animal.

"Very good," He clapped softly; he was speaking to her in a tone that made her think he thought she had down-syndrome. Narrowing her eyes, she spat on the ground beside them.

"Give me the stuffed animal. The raccoon you took from my room. I want it back!" The Phantom's fiery blue eyes waltzed with amusement at her bravery, but Olive thought nothing of it.

Hardly anything frightened her anymore. What was there to be afraid of? Some mythological ghost? Hardly. She's learned about the world, and through her beaten, broken spirit's eyes; she sees that ghosts and priests are nothing to fear. They are nothing more than minor annoyances that must be overcome.

"Spoils of war, my dear" he said brusquely, his arms crossing his chest and a dark, amused grin tugging at his lips. Olive hated this man, she _hated _him!

Angry and gashing her teeth, Olive lunged at the masked man with a balled fist, aiming to hit him in his smug nose. He dodged out of the way, but she punched again. She kept trying and he kept dodging, he was swift. He had the lightning fast reflexes of an experienced ally cat, but that didn't mean that Olive was going to stop trying.

"Give it back!" She screamed as she threw punches at Erik, "Give it! It's Johanna's!" She couldn't even hear her own voice anymore. She was caught in a tide of hatred and remorse. She had to get her daughter's stuffed Raccoon back, without it she would surely lose her fragile tie to reality. "Give it back!"

The phantom caught both her wrists and kept them both from hitting him, and he could see the hate slashing in her brown eyes. It fazed him not.

"It's Johanna's…" She said, dejectedly quiet. "…give me back my baby's toy…" Harshly, Erik used her wrists and threw her down into the cold, soaking wet water and starred at her unconscious form. She'd hit her head on the hard stone floor, and the only man that could help felt no pity for her.

But the thing was; he knew she would wake up soon. Knowing his, He lifted her up, threw her (Literally) over his shoulder, and carried her back up to the surface.

She would be nothing but a bother to him if she stayed in the water below. In a better case scenario, she would get water in her lungs before she woke up and would drowned, but then he would have legions of policemen tromping through his private space again in search of the ugly woman.

He threw her down on her bed and wiped his shoulder of the water that she'd gotten on his shirt. Beside her bed on her nightstand stood a tri-fold picture frame with three black-and-white photos in them. The one on the far left was of a handsome man holding a beautiful little baby girl (Who he presumed was "Johanna"), a beautiful young lady who was standing with the man and baby in the center, and on the left was that same woman with the baby. No one in the photograph fazed him one bit, but he figured that it would be alright to give Olive back her doll. What was a doll to him anyway?

Approaching the doll back at his lair, he saw it was not in any condition to give back. A rat had gnawed a hole in the neck that had torn. The head was nearly coming off, with its stuffing entrails coming through the thin spindles of thread.

He glanced over at the pocket watch that sat on the desk beside the raccoon and in front of the charred set of Don Juan Triumphant said it was nearly two in the morning. Placing the doll back down on the desk and throwing away his idea of giving it back, he strolled into the bedroom where he tried to get some sleep.

The face of the lovely chestnut haired girl haunted his mind as he attempted at sleep. She always haunted his sleep and tortured his conscious mind. Every time he attempted to sleep there was a replay of the night she left him for the vicomte de Changy. That night, Erik lost everything. He lost his love, his life, and the thing he lived to protect. With her gone, who was he to love and protect?

What about that old, haggish woman? Olive was it?

Ha-ha! That's a laugh. Olive was old, ugly, wicked, nasty, had no taste in the arts, gruesome to be around, infuriating, and brainless. She was just like everyone else in the upper world. Everyone except Christine, who was so very beautiful. Olive couldn't hold a candle to Christine's smile, and no one could capture his heart like Christine.

Even though he knew Christine was gone and she was never coming back, he couldn't help but hope every day that she would. Or that his paintings, figurines, and everything else to do with Christine would give him the satisfaction that he lacked.

He was so blinded by his desire to have that which he couldn't have, that he was happy living in the fantasy that he owned her. That she had chosen him, and she was pregnant with the first of their many children. He wanted to happily live with Christine and love her with his entire heart. He wanted to show her that he wasn't an insane pyromaniac. He loved her, he always would love her, and no one; no matter how beautiful or smart they were, would ever get him to change his mind.

**

* * *

Sorry it took so long!! I had major writer's block and it totally sucked. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapty :D**


	7. Days best forgotten

**Chapter Seven**

_**Days best forgotten**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own phantom, and I'm just saying this now: there WILL be bits of Sweeney Todd, mostly because I lurve that movie so good.**

* * *

Mold was growing on the walls beside the cot, consuming the cold; gray bricks like a starving dog does a kindly, or coldly, given piece of pork.

The cot wasn't much better. It was cold, had a big, pointed spring poking out of a spot near the head so you had to be sure not to roll over on it in your sleep, and sitting near the pillow was a reddish brownish haired woman with a unhinged look on her face.

She hugged her knees to her chest and closed her sunken eyes, listening to the sounds of the other female inmates being raped by their male cellmates. That may as well have been the worst part of the prison—the mixing of male and female prisoners. Beatings by the guards would heal, but the memory of the raped would never fade.

Her wanker cell mate was living up to his cleverly given title. Right in front of his female cellmate, he was taking care of a…"Manly" problem. Disgusting Olive, but not so much anymore. When she first arrived she hated to watch him do that, but since she'd been there for damn near fifteen years, it had become a routine of his after he raped her.

Oh how she would do anything in the world to get out. Sent there under a false charge, she had the innocence; sweetness, and beauty beaten and raped out of her. Now she had only a drive to head home. She wanted to hold her baby in her arms again, and kiss her husband. After she told him what all happened at the prison, he would insist she see a doctor to see if she was alright.

Falling down on the cot, Olive tried to trick her mind into believing she was home, holding her baby and loving her husband. She didn't belong in prison; she belonged in the arm arms of her family.

Benjamin sat in the living room with Johanna in his lap, reading to her the baby-appropriate articles in the newspaper. Olive smiled from the archway that lead into the kitchen before entering, carrying a pan of freshly made apple pie. Smiling, Benjamin thanked her.

Oh how she missed her darling husband and her beautiful daughter. Someday she would return home to them, which would be the best day of her life. Someday she would feel only her husband on top of her, expressing what was love, not boredom or pent up sexual desires and a lack of other—prettier—women.

That day would come and when it did she would be the happiest woman in the world. She would try to get her looks back, and maybe attempt to regain some innocence that had been brutally stolen from her.

Somehow, her fantasies had lulled her to sleep. When she woke the guard was letting her cellmate out of the cell to wander around the yard for a while. One had two choices out in the yard: Work out, or stay out of the guards' way. Olive stayed out of the guards' way, sitting and reading with all the other women (Some of which _did_ commit crimes, unlike her.) who made the same choice.

"Parker!" She looked up from her book at the guard who was calling for her. Cringing, she watched him walk towards her. The other women scattered in fear, as they did when anyone came near them. Olive was the newest of them, so she was reduced to only cringing so far. "'mere" Swallowing hard, Olive put her book down and climbed off the picnic table that she sat on.

The guard grabbed her by her wrist and started shouting, as if she'd gone and done something wrong.

"You pathetic waste of skin!" he screamed at her, making the earth beneath her shake. She felt like a child, being yelled at during recess. He slapped her across the face before pulling her along after him. "Warden wants to see you!"

He dragged her out of the yard and into the building. But instead of throwing her into the warden's office like a child in trouble, He pushed her against the cold, brick walls and raped her. Believe it or not, she wasn't that surprised to have him beat her, rape her, and throw her around like a rag doll.

She heartlessly starred at the ceiling as the guard's hands traveled all over her body, as he had his way with her she tried to take her mind and heart away from the Australian prison and give it to Benjamin. He was her reason for not hanging herself at night in prison.

Thus, was life at the penitentiary.

**Two months later…**

Olive sat on her bed as the infirmary physician came to her to see why she'd been so sick. Normally he would not have been called, had Olive not said that if she was sick and died in prison, they would be sued by her husband, a top-dollar lawyer. In fear of a law suit, they gave into her demands.

Put through test after grueling test, Olive swallowed each embarrassed tear and each self-conscious choke. Did she have to be given tests while the whole prison silently watched from their cells. Some of which weren't there, they were out in the yard. But most of the women were there for her, because as women, they needed to stick together.

"Mrs. Parker," Olive's ears twitched at the sound of her formal name, instead of just being called 'Parker'. The doctor was a kind old man who understood Olive's problems, and most of the problems of most of the other convicts. So when he gave her the reason for her sickness, his voice was very quiet. "You're pregnant."

The world came to a screeching end, those two words could make volcano's explode, could wipe out a whole city, and could disprove the existence of god. Especially if you knew, like Olive did, that the little thing incubating inside her wasn't Benjamin's.

There was no way it could be, she was in prison for fifteen years and hadn't seen him for that long. Even more unfortunate than that, the baby's father was either a rotten criminal, or a besmirched sentry. No matter who the father was, every time Olive looked at the baby she would remember the horror of the Prison Isles.

The doctor left Olive to herself, and she didn't cry. She knew Benjamin would love the baby no matter whose father it was (especially after Olive told him _how_ she got pregnant.) and Johanna would love her little brother or sister.

But the thing that surprised Olive the most was the fact that she could still _have_ a baby. She figured she had the motherhood aged and beaten out of her. But if she thought about it, she wasn't all _that_ old. She just felt like an old hag that was 68 other than her 33 year old self.

Would they let her go for her pregnancy?

No, another girl got pregnant and is trying to raise the baby to be a good person while she's in prison. Thus, teaching Olive that it would be impossible to raise her baby in prison, or more accurately, it would be hard to raise it _well_ in Prison.

As time went on, she saw her stomach growing larger, and people growing meaner. Her original cellmate was taken to the guillotine, and she was given a new one who was worse than the first. The other prisoners and guards still beat and raped her, despite her fragile condition. They didn't care, not even when she woke up in the middle of the night, bleeding.

The loss of the baby destroyed her, even if the baby didn't start out being wanted, it died being loved by its mother. The body wasn't even properly disposed of; they just threw it in the trash like a piece of…trash.

Seeing them dispose of her baby like it was yesterday's trash pushed her over the edge. She couldn't stay there anymore, living, sweating in a living hell. There was no end to her lifetime sentence, not legally. She had to bust out if she wanted to be free and back with her family.

Under the cover of night, Olive made her escape from the prison. Only to be chased by the guards and guard dogs as she ran to the docks to stow away on the ship. They were so close to catching her that she saw her whole life flash before her eyes. But luckily, she made it to the boat and was able to laugh in the faces of the dogs and guards. Up until she had to dive under some crates when they started to fire off at her.

Weeks and weeks at sea had past while Olive stayed below deck on the supplies ship. Men thought that having a woman on board would bring them bad luck, so she had to keep herself hidden if she wanted a passage to freedom.

It took them several days actually to find Olive hidden among the gunpowder and bags of moldy rice. She smiled sheepishly before they took her on deck and kicked her off the side.

Falling head first into the sea, Olive swam in a random direction, hoping to god it was the way to France. If not, she would surely die on the ocean. But at least she made an effort to escape, other than taking her false charge and dying in prison.

That was when she saw the large ship belonging to Anthony's father, and heard Anthony yelling at his father that there was a woman in the ocean.

* * *

Slowly, the sun that danced through the large windows in Olive's room in the Opera Populaire slowly caressed her eyelids, gradually rousing her from her deep slumber. She sat up and looked around her bedroom tiredly for a moment. It was all the same as it was when she fell asleep.

The first thing that came to her mind was Johanna's Raccoon. She had to find it and get it back, no matter what it cost her. Even if it cost her her life

* * *

**Sorry it took me so long to write this chapter. Another bout of writer's block. IDK what's wrong w/ me :P**


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